“There are thousands of good steps,” declared Uncle Bob.
“But Manila—see what Manila got!”
He smiled knowingly, mysteriously. “Manila’s own fault,” he said.
“No!”
“Yes. She made the mistake of not picking her own step.”
“Manila’s father picked Mrs. Botts,” confided Phœbe.
“Mrs. Botts picked him,” contradicted Uncle Bob. “Oh, Phœbe, I want you to trust me, to believe me!”
“Of course!” she cried.
“Phœbe,”—he rested a hand on either shoulder—“you need a good step. But you mustn’t make Manila’s mistake. You must not trust to your father’s judgment. You—must—pick—that—step—yourself.”
Phœbe gasped. “Myself?”